Of Concussions and Chaos
by Fuzzball457
Summary: A simple hunt gets out of hand at the expense of the youngest Winchester.
1. Part I

**First and foremost, this little story is for SupernaturalRenegade as a late Christmas present and an early B-day present. Keep on rockin', M!**

**This part is a little short, but the next one will be longer. It may be 2 parts or maybe 3, not sure yet. Either way the next post will hopefully be within a week, but I start school soon so no guarantees****.**

**Thanks to SparkieBunny for beta-ing!**

**Enjoy and please review! **

**Of Concussions and Chaos  
>Part I<strong>

Sam bit back a curse as he felt himself lift off of the ground and sail through the air. With a crunch, he crashed through an old worktable and landed painfully on the wooden floor of the old barn, a cloud of dust rising around him.

"Shit!" Dean cursed from across the cavernous barn. Sam had to give old Kate credit; she certainly wasn't going down without a fight.

Daughter of the old couple who owned the barn, Kate had died a horrific death when she'd fallen through the floor of the barn and been impaled on some farming equipment. Marina and Howard Robinson, Kate's parents, had eventually realized they had a serious problem. Marina cried a bit as she explained the monster her daughter had become and how every person they'd hired to work the fields, being too old themselves, had been killed in the barn. When Dean explained that they were ghost hunters, they'd been nothing but gracious to the Winchesters, immeidately accepting their story.

The couple was holed up in the kitchen of the once white farm house kitchen, waiting for the brothers to come and say it was safe.

The plan was to just stay in the back behind the barn and burn the body, but Kate had other ideas and drew them into the barn by throwing Dean through the wall just as the shovel revealed bones. The following minutes were chaos. Both the brothers and objects in the barn went airborne several times. Sam and Dean managed to get a couple shots off now and then, but never made it all the way out to the home-made grave site to finish the job.

"You alright?" Dean called as he jogged backwards towards Sam, keeping his gun aimed at the expanse of the barn.

"Yeah, I'm good!" Sam replied as he pulled himself to his feet.

"Get the bones!"

Sam rushed to comply as Kate reappeared and Dean fired off another round. He missed, and for a moment the girl stayed invisible, preferring to just wreak havoc by raining falling pieces of timber and old farm tools all over them.

With a jerk of her ghostly hand, Kate sent Sam sliding across the floor and crashing into the opposite wall. Biting back a faint groan – he would be feeling _that_ tomorrow! – Sam pushed himself back up.

"New plan! I'll get the bones, you hold her off!" Dean shouted as he was now closer to the hole in the wall that lead to the back grave. Kate shrieked flew after him, but one well aimed round of salt from Sam stopped her.

Dean gave him a thumbs-up before he disappeared outside. Making sure to keep an eye out for Kate, Sam slowly walked towards the hole to help Dean.

"You know where I was when I died?" The voice was close enough that Sam could feel the frozen air on the back of his neck. He turned around to face her.

Having died at seventeen, Kate wasn't very tall, even floating a foot off the floor. The t-shirt she was wearing would have been flattering on a live body, but now it looked ghastly on her shrunken form and there was a dark stain right in the middle. If Sam hadn't known it was blood, it could have passed as some dark flower design. Part of her hair was matted to her head with blood, while part of it was still in its ponytail. A few strands still flew free. But the eyes were the worst. They'd probably been very pretty in life, but now they seemed frozen and piercing like a hawk surveying its next meal.

"Where?" Sam asked, cursing himself for not just firing more salt. But part of him felt bad. She was a young girl, after all, killed far before her prime. She'd never go on a date, have a first kiss, graduate high school…

Marina had said that Kate didn't enjoy working on the farm and that she was really a city girl at heart. The similarity had hit Sam hard, though Dean didn't seem to realize. A young girl wanting nothing other than to escape the family business, yet not wanting to leave her family…then she'd died working the family business. Now didn't that sound familiar? The only different part was that she'd died. But who was Sam kidding? He would die and there was a 99% percent chance he'd die hunting or as a result of a hunting injury. And he'd probably die early, too. Is this what he would become? A ghost haunting his brother and father because he pulled him back into the life he hated? Is that why Kate stuck around? To show how unhappy she was she never got to do what she wanted with her life? She'd died at seventeen...only a year left before she'd be able to leave and live her own life...A little girl with big plans who never made it that far.

Talk about wasted potential.

"Right where you're standing." Sam's eyes drifted down and he realized she was right, there was a faint seem in the floor where it'd been patched up. Who knew why it'd given in the first place, rotted beam, rats chewed through the suspension…it could have been anything.

"Oh," Sam said daftly as he realized what was about to happen. Sure enough the floor boards curled downwards like burning paper. His feet were glued to the boards and Sam stood silently, waiting for his support to fully give way. His muscles tensed up to try and prepare for the fall. In the distance Sam could hear Dean finishing the job of digging that they'd almost finished before.

"It wasn't very nice of the brother of yours to leave you here by yourself, you know. In fact, I might even say this was his fault. Not a very good brother if you ask me."

Sam was about to protest when he suddenly dropped. His stomach jumped up to hsi throat, stopping him from screaming. Thankfully the dusty farm equipment had been long gone and the few that remained were shoved up against the walls. It didn't seem very long to Sam - most likely still longer than it actually took, but still not as long as he expected - he had just enough time to register what happened before he met the ground.

His ankle protested as he landed (_don't forget to bend your knees!) _and fell to the side, attempting to roll out of it. He tried to get his arms under him, but his head still smacked painfully against cement ground. As a result, he ended up lying painfully on his side with one arm trapped beneath him.

Note to self: body vs cement - cement always wins.

His vision blurred and black swirled in the edges. As he felt warm blood begin to slid down the side of his face, his dimly registered that that was bad, but didn't know why. What was he even doing here anyway? Oh right...down through the floor.

There was a whoosh of flames, and then a piercing shriek vibrated about the barn, shaking Sam to the very core and making his head give a fierce throb. A few seconds later he heard a screen door slam in the distance while boots could be heard walking back into the barn.

"Sam?" someone called from far away. Sam could imagine the confusion on Dean's face as he looked around trying to locate his younger brother. He probably wouldn't see the hole at first, not in the dim light provided by the few over head lights. No, the hole—and the person it hid—were probably hidden in the shadows. Hopefully Dean didn't walk right over it and fall down, too…

"Ah, shit, Sammy, you down there?" A ray of artificial light sliced through the darkness and Sam cringed slightly when it crossed over his eyes. Dear God how his head _hurt!_ "Hang on, I'm coming!"

Dean. Dean was coming. Dean would take care of him. God, he was twenty-three and he still craved his big brother's comfort. But one thing was for sure. Kate was wrong. Dean was a good brother. Dean was the _best_ brother. Dean still cared for him even after he left. They fell right back into the routine of watching each other's back like there hadn't been a four year break between them. Because Sam and Dean were like peanut butter and jelly. They were good separate, even better together, and damn near impossible to pull apart.

Kate was wrong.

**TBC...**


	2. Part II

**I know it's still kinda short, but I didn't want to wait too much longer to post. So here it is! Next update will probably be sometime next week.  
>Disclaimer: No, don't own em. What a pity, eh?<strong>

**Concussions & Chaos  
>Part II<strong>

Praying Sam would be able to keep her busy just a bit longer, Dean jogged outside. The white of bones barely peaked through the dark dirt, and the shovel was still lying a few feet away, exactly where Sam had dropped it when Dean took his flight through the wall.

Trying to hurry – every second Sam was with that bitch was one more second for him to get hurt – Dean dropped the shovel twice before he finally managed to pick it up properly. Jamming it into the dirt, Dean forcefully scraped away to uncover the bones more. His muscles ached from the abuse of the night, but he just went on double-time.

It only took about two or three minutes to uncover the majority of the skeleton. Dean was momentarily struck by its size. Just a girl, not a woman, not an old widow, just a _girl._ Probably a virgin too. Pity the poor thing.

Dean dropped the shovel and pulled out the salt, gasoline and his Zippo lighter. Voices were drifting out from the barn and Dean realized who Sam was talking to. _Only Sammy._ There was a sudden cry that had Dean dropping the salt. His body told him to screw the burning and go make sure Sam was safe, but his brain told him to burn the body first; it'd only cause complications later.

"I'm coming, Sammy, I'm coming," he murmured as he grabbed the salt back up. Once the skeleton (_so small!_) had been liberally doused in salt and gasoline, he lit it up with his lighter. There was whoosh and a bright light from the barn as the heat next to him got more and more intense.

He didn't even wait for the ghost to disappear fully before he was running into the barn. He didn't know why, but ghost-grave fires went out after the ghosts went wherever they went. It was good, Dean supposed, because if they had to make sure the entire skeleton was burned but also make sure they didn't start any fires...things would get complicated.

"Sam?" There wasn't anyone here. Fading sunlight shown in through the windows, highlighting all the dust in the air. There were chunks of wood scattered across the floor and several hoes and similar equipment had been tossed about.

But there was no tall little brother. He spun around in a circle, but just when he was about to call out again, he spotted a dark shadow in the floor. It was ominously dark. Upon closer inspection, Dean realized it was a hole in the barn floor.

Hole in ground plus missing brother could equal only one conclusion. And it wasn't a good one.

Dean jogged over as he pulled out his flashlight. Pointing it down into the hole, Dean called out, "Ah, shit, Sammy, you down there?" Dean pointed the flashlight down and saw Sam cringe slightly as the light fell on him. "Hang on, I'm coming!" Dean called down.

How? He had no idea.

The drop was at least twelve feet and the floor was covered in rubble and mess of years of disuse. If he jumped down, he'd likely twist an ankle at the very least. Worst case scenario, he broke a limb and/or knocked himself out. Not to mention the possibility of landing _on_ Sam. That would be absolutely no help to Sam. "Okay, okay…" he muttered to himself as he pointlessly spun in a circle, trying to find something to help. No ladders, no rope, nothing. But there had to be a way down there somehow…

_There!_ In the far corner, there was a very skinny staircase, the steps maybe no more than a foot wide. Dean jogged over to them and realized what a miracle it was that he noticed them at all. They were partially covered in straw, the opening only about four feet. Running along the edge of the stairs that opened out to the basement was a raggedy piece of rope. Dean stepped down onto the first step and he creaked and bent beneath his foot.

_Oh damn, this is gonna be interesting…but I gotta get to Sam…_ He didn't know how badly injured Sam was and if he was bleeding (_impaled!_) he may very well bleed out by the time Dean got down there. _No, no, no! Not today, he's not. _

But three steps down and the stairs gave an even worse creak. The wood bowed beneath his feet and when Dean went to roll his weight forward to step down a step, it started to splinter. He barely managed to grasp onto the ancient rope before the entire staircase gave out underneath him. Dean howled and wrapped his legs around the rope as it swung forward. He waited a minute for the all the wood and dust to settle and for the rope to calm a bit before he let go and dropped the six or so feet left to the ground.

Coughing as he ran, Dean went over to where Sam was laying. He was lying on his side with his right arm partially trapped beneath him. All four limbs looked bruised, but unbroken. The most alarming thing was Sam's head. There was a mini pool of blood surrounding the side of his head which was lying on the cement.

"Oh, geez, oh geez." Dean tugged a hand nervously through his hair. Bending closer to examine the head wound, Dean realized it wasn't as bad as it looked. That was often true with head injuries. They had a tendency to bleed a fucking lot. But the maroon liquid appeared to already be coagulating which was definitely good.

"Alright, Sasquatch, time to get up." Shaking Sam's shoulder, gently, very very gently – because Dean had more than enough experience with concussions to know shaking was never pleasant – only produced a mild reaction from the younger Winchester. "Come on, Sam!" Searching about for some inspiration on how to wake him, Dean was suddenly hit with an idea. "C'mon, Sammy, get your ass up, your date's here."

"No, it's Saturday, I don't have to go to school," Sam muttered before drifting away again.

"For crying out loud, Sam! Work with me here!"

"Shut up, 'm trying to sleep," Sam mumbled.

"No, no more sleep, Sam, we've got to get moving." This time Dean used a no-nonsense voice that he often associated with their dad. Hopefully that would reach Sam and pull him out of his own little world.

Sure enough, Sam's eyes slowly flicked open to reveal two pupils of slightly different size. "Alright, buddy, let's get out of here." Sam stared in confusion for a moment. Eventually he nodded. Even if he didn't really know the specifics of what was going on, he seemed to trust Dean to be telling the truth and get them both to safety. Damn, Dean loved that kid.

Grabbing Sam under the arm, Dean helped pull him to his feet where he swayed dangerously for a moment. "Whoa, slow down a bit, Sam, we're not running a race here, I just want to get back and look closer at that knock on your head." With significant support from Dean, Sam managed to stumble a few steps when he suddenly stopped.

"Dean!" He whispered urgently. Dean felt his heart rate double. Expecting some she-monster to swoop down on them from somewhere, he looked around frantically. Seeing nothing, he quickly asked, "What?"

"She was wrong," Sam said simply. Dean had no idea as to what he was referring. In the state Sam was currently in, he could mean the spirit, his deceased girlfriend or even that girl in the second grade who insisted Santa Claus was real.

"Sure, Sam, if you say so."

"No, Dean, I'm telling you, she was _wrong._" For some reason Sam sounded like a boy trying to prove his loyalty.

"Okay, Sam, I believe you, but let's get going now…" Dean trailed off as he was hit with the realization of the huge problem in front of them.

How where they going to get out?

TBC…


	3. Part III

**So this wraps up this little guy. Sorry for taking so long to get it done!**

**Un-beta'd so all mistakes are my own.**

**Thanks to all who reviewed and please please keep it up!**

**Of Concussions and Chaos Part III**

Dean felt his blood go cold and his heart start double timing it. No more stairs. And even if he could somehow manage to get Sam to climb the rope, he doubted it would hold either of their weight for long.

"What's wrong?" Sam mumbled, too out of it to realize what the staircase-turned-pile-of-rubble meant.

"Nothing, Sammy, nothing, we're just gonna have to take a little detour." Sam nodded and let his eyes drift closed a bit. Feeling his brother's weight slide further onto his shoulder, Dean gently lowered Sam to the ground.

"You rest for a minute - try not to go to sleep on me – I just gotta figure something out." Dean pulled his flashlight back out and slowly scanned it over the entire span of wall, finding no way out. No other stairs, no door that lead outside, not even one of those mini windows. Dean let out a frustrated growl then glared around the room, daring it to conceal anything from him.

"I don't know what to do," Dean whispered under his breath. "Come on," Still under his breath, Dean was now he was growling. "Come on, you sonuvabitch!" he shouted, not sure who he was addressing.

"Dean," Sam called, stretching out the e sound like he used to when he was a little kid. Dean could see all the Dean-with-an-elongated-e moments flash before him; the broken arm, the food poisoning (_told you not to eat that!)_ even the barely audible 'Dean' as a result of a black dog's assault. He remembered with perfect clarity the terror and panic of that moment when he thought Sam was going to die, right there in front of him, in the middle of some unknown forest in Northern Maine.

Vaguely, he wondered if Sam had ever called out Dean-with-an-elongated-e at Stanford.

"Yeah, Sammy?" he said, somewhat distractedly. He was staring up the hole in the ceiling trying to gauge the distance. Could they find enough things to stack to get up there? Could they find things to stack period? Would Sam be able to climb said stack even if they built it?

"She was wrong." That got Dean's attention. Sam had said the same thing with the same persistency not ten minutes prior.

"Who, Sam? Who was wrong?" Sam's concussion-induced confusion could be making him hallucinate, but he seemed relatively aware of what was going on, even if he wasn't making sense.

"She was wrong," (_Oh yes, that's helpful) _"You're a good brother."

"Um, thanks, I guess, you too," Dean said awkwardly. He didn't know what to make of Sam's sudden confession. Hopefully Sam didn't think, in his cloudy haze, that they were dying (_not dying!_) because who knows what sort of mushy gushy shit he'd start spewing out if he did.

"Use the cellophane," Sam murmured. He wrinkled up his nose and looked quite frustrated with himself.

"What?" If he wasn't before, Dean was now positive Sam wasn't with him anymore. Wherever he was, he was apparently trying to package something…

"Tah get ou, use the cell-phane." His voice slurred, almost to the point of being indistinguishable, as his consciousness wavered.

"First off, we don't have any cellophane and if we did I doubt a packing material could help us get out."

Sam's brows dipped down, tightly coming together and for a moment he just worked his mouth like he was trying to loosen his lips before getting on stage to sing something.

"No cell-phane, cell_ phone_." then his eyelids dropped and his head sidled off to the side, dropping on his shoulder.

"Oh," he said in understanding. He could recall (_all too well)_ the strange sensations of a concussion. One of which made it difficult to get your mouth to say what your brain wanted. Maybe it was a lip and tongue problem or maybe something just wasn't connecting right, but certain things just seemed impossible to say.

It wasn't just a concussion that gave these symptoms either. He could recall a time when Sam had been about 7 and in a fever driven delirium, he'd woken up Dean and requested a hot dog. Dean had been quite surprised because not only did they not have hot dogs, but Sam had never liked the processed part-meat product. Not to mention it'd been nearly one in the morning. But when he asked, in a shocked tone, if Sam really wanted a hot dog, Sam had replied no, he wanted a _hot dog_. This conversation had gone of several minutes, Sam speech getting worse and worse until Dean finally realized Sam was trying to ask for a hamburger and kept saying hot dog instead because of that same missing link fevers, concussion and sleep deprivation/disorientation brought about.

The next morning Sam didn't recall ever waking Dean up at all.

So cell phone. That was Sam's brilliant plan. And really, since his own plan so far had been to pace around and swear at inanimate objects, it really was quite brilliant.

He roused Sam, who was even less aware than before, checked his pulse and respiration, then dialed operator. He requested the number for their address and damn if he didn't feel foolish asking for the number of the property they were on. Maybe that should be a thing in the future, exchanging phone numbers. Sure they gave theirs out, give us a call if something else happens or reach me here if you think of something, but rarely did they take one in return. Especially for a case like this. If it was more of a mystery and required digging around and consulting with people who had, through a slap in the face encounter, learned of the supernatural world, sure. But for a ghost case? No need.

"Hello?" Marina's soft voice answered.

"Hey, Dean Winchester here." No false names this time. Wasn't really needed and the couple been honest and as helpful as possible so it seemed unfair to lie to them.

"Oh, Dean! Is everything okay? I didn't expect a call," she said worriedly. "I thought you were just going to come back to the house?"

"That was the plan, yeah, but we ran into a few troubles…well Sam really…basically he fell through the floor and when I came down to get him, the staircase gave out and now we're trapped."

"Oh my goodness! You just hang on one moment and I'll get Howard to bring the ladder out." She covered her end of the phone and he distantly heard her talking to someone, assumedly Howard, before coming back on. "He'll be there in just a minute or two. Is Sam alright?"

"Not really, no. But it's not too bad. Sprained, maybe broken wrist and a bruised rib or two. Got himself a pretty good concussion too, but I don't think anything life threatening."

"That poor dear, he seemed such a sweet boy. Do you want me to call an ambulance?"

"I'd really prefer if you didn't. I'll just get him in our car and take care of it."

"No, I insist that you come to the house at the very least."

"Okay...thanks." That didn't sound too bad at all.

"I'm gonna hang up now and me and Harold will be out there in a minute, okay, sweetie?" Normally Dean couldn't stand the people who called him sweetie, or honey, or dearie, it was just like a cruel reminder of what he almost had, but now, now it didn't really bother him. She was a nice lady and she _was_ coming to their rescue.

"Sure thing." He hung up and turned to face Sam whose cheek was firmly pressed against his shoulder.

Dean crouched down next to his little brother and checked his pulse.

"Come on, Sam, time to get up."

Sam's nose scrunched up just like it used to when he was a little kid and his eyes flickered open.

"Dean." Again with the elongated e. More of a whine (_it hurts_) and cry (_make it better_) all at once than simply calling his name.

"That's it, Sam, time to get up, the cavalry is coming." Sam scrunched his eyes closed for a moment before opening the fully.

"The cavalry?"

"Yup, now up and at em." Suddenly Sam groaned and curled up slightly.

"Hurts, Dean."

"Yeah you took a real knock to the head," Dean said distractedly as he gently probed around the dried blood on Sam's head.

"No, my wrist." Dean stopped in his examination and turned slowly to Sam. Obediently, Sam held up his right arm which was slightly swollen and discolored.

"Let me see," Dean said, as he gently pulled Sam's poor wrist into his own hands. He'd given it a glance or two earlier but he hadn't given it much thought in face of everything else.

Excluding a small hiss, Sam remained absolutely silent through Dean's examination of the discolored limb. Perhaps he was just holding it in, but Dean suspected that Sam wasn't quite "with" him. The combination of pain and a concussion can do that to a person.

"Alright, I don't think it's broken…bad sprain probably." Sam mumbled something unintelligible then withdrew his hand and pulled it protectively around his chest.

"Dean? Sam? You boys down there?" Dean's eyes flicked over to the hole in the ceiling and Sam's head lazily rolled in the general direction of the noise.

"Mr. Robinson?" Dean called.

"Yeah, and call me Howard," the man said just as he had when they first met earlier that evening. "How you boys doin' down there?"

Dean hesitated, looking at Sam whose pupils were uneven and unfocused.

"We'll live," he offered.

"Alright, well I'm gonna try to lower this ladder down and I need you to grab the bottom part and guide it to the ground, somewhere solid, not on anything."

"Be right back," he whispered to Sam, then stood up and positioned himself beneath the gap in the ceiling.

"Ready," Dean affirmed. The giant metal ladder was slowly lowered down the hole at an angle so one side rested on the edge of the hole. Dean had to admit, those first few feet were scary as he just stood beneath praying Howard didn't let it slip. If it slipped the huge metal beast would land right on him and crush him.

But the cool metal reached his fingers with no problem and he gently guided it to the ground, nudging aside a few dust covered bricks so the rubber covered feet could rest securely.

"Alright if you wanna climb up then your brother…"

"Uh…" Dean's eyes drifted over to Sam's senseless form. "That might be a problem."

"Wake him up and tell him something, anything, to get him up the ladder. Tell him there's a hot babe on the other side or that the basement's filling with water. Something!"

Dean wasn't sure if the former would work, Sam may be mostly recovered from Jess' death – as recovered as he would ever be anyway – but he would never chase girls the way Dean did.

But...When Sam was fifteen he'd taken a spirit-inflicted dunk in a frozen lake in which he very nearly drowned. Dean could remember that particular incident well. The scariest part had been the simple blue tint to Sam's frozen lips. But anyway; Sam had never been exactly scared of water, but ever since then, drowning had been pretty high up on there on the Sam Winchester List of Fears.

"Sammy," Dean said as he bent down in front of his little brother. Sam's uneven pupils drifted up to met Dean's own eyes. "Hey, we need to get going."

"Sleep," Sam muttered, his eyes drifting closed. How long had they been down here anyway? Ten minutes? Twenty? Sam was clearly reaching the end of his endurance. Dean hated to play his brother like this, but as soon as they were up, the sooner he could do a more thorough medical examination of Sam's injury. Then drug the kid up and let him have his badly needed rest.

"Sam, we got to hurry!" he said urgently. Sam's eyes peeled back open and he looked just a bit more focused.

"Why?"

"There's a water leak! Soon the whole basement will fill up and we'll be stuck down here!" Even through his haze and sure headache, Sam's eyes bugged out and he shoved himself to his feet, swaying very dangerously at the rapid ascent.

"Whoa, whoa!" Dean said, grabbing Sam's elbow. "Hold on, Sasquatch, we got some time. Basement's not gonna fill in the next five seconds."

"Gotta get out," Sam said like a determined little child.

"Yeah, but take it a little slower, okay?" Dean dragged his taller younger brother's arm across his shoulders and steered him over to the ladder.

"Come on up," Howard called.

"Alright, you first, Sam," Dean said when Howard interrupted.

"Why?"

"So I can catch him if he slips," Dean said with a stating the obvious look on his face.

"You mean so he'll fall and knock you off too? No, I have a better idea." The man disappeared for a minute before returning and tossing some rope down. "Tie this around both of your waists that way if either of you fall, I can tug you up." They did as told - Dean made sure to tie the rope around Sam's hip bones so it wouldn't pull up and constrict on his injured ribs - and Dean started up. Once he was just over half way up the ladder, he heard Sam start beneath him. It was difficult, but Dean refrained from looking behind him to check on Sam. He reached the top without hitch and soon Howard was helping him up. Dean looked back down at Sam who was roughly half the way up the ladder.

"Come on, bro!" Sam blinked up at him, looking like a lost dog, then continued up. Dean got the feeling he no longer remembered why he was climbing a ladder, but went on because Dean was on the other side.

"Howard!" Marina shouted in the distance followed by the slam of a screen door. Sam jerked violently in surprise – the slam was loud to Dean, how loud was it to someone with a bad headache? – and slipped from the ladder. For a second Dean thought Sam was going to fall despite the rope and hit the cement again. This time he wouldn't be as prepared for the crash. This time might be the last Sam ever fell, ever did anything.

But between the rope and Sam's own reflexes, he grabbed on a couple rungs down. Sam hissed out a few breaths while gently touching his chest. Both Howard and Dean breathed a sigh of relief. Dean looked down in surprised when he felt blood well up on his palms where his finger nails dug in. After a couple moments, Sam got going again at a slower rate.

Dean stuck out a hand and grasped Sam's hand, pulling him up.

They all stumbled to their feet and Sam blinked owlishly at Howard.

"Your basement's flooding," he said matter-of-factly. Howard burst into hearty laughter and Dean couldn't help but join in. Sam looked back and forth between them in confusion.

"Is everyone okay?" Marina cried as she came jogging into the barn. She stuttered to a halt next to Dean, her hair – brown going grey – swung back and forth like a pendulum. Her eyes first landed on Dean, and after mentally deciding he looked uninjured, looked over to Sam.

Sam was starting to seriously look worse for wear. From the outer edge of his right eye to the back of his right ear was quite literally soaked in blood and his hair clumped messily making him look like he got involved in a twisted hair gel fight. His pupils were uneven and it was impossible to tell if he was focusing on anything or just staring and not seeing. The sleeve of his brown jacket was pushed up revealing his purple wrist which he held against his chest protectively.

"Sweet Lord," Marina whispered. In one swift step she was right in front of Sam and her hands, tender from years as a mother, came up to either sides of Sam's face. The blood that stuck her hand went unnoticed. "My dear child, you look a mess."

"Your basement's flooding," Sam repeated, seemingly unaware that he was quite bloody and covered in dirt.

Marina's eyes narrowed in confusion and she looked over to Dean and Harold who both just smiled and shook their heads.

"Sure, sweetie. Come up to the house. Dean, are you sure I shouldn't be calling an ambulance?"

"No, no, that's fine. I just need the med kit from my car. Are you sure you wouldn't rather we just went on our way? We have a perfectly good motel and I can patch Sammy up just as well there as anywhere."

"I insist. I need to know that you're both gonna be okay and besides, I make a mean hot cocoa if you're up to it."

"You're sure? It'll probably be bloody, I can't grantee we won't get blood on anything."

"Don't worry about that, we don't mind one bit – though the people who'll get it when we die might have a thing to say!" She laughed.

Dean nodded, honestly grateful for the woman's hospitality.

The four people, so unalike yet brought together by a common problem, made their way up to the house. Dean apologized again for the hole in the floor, the one in the wall and the other minor damage. It was brushed aside and Marina passionately pointed out that they had more than made up for it.

Dean found himself sitting on a maroon couch which made up for its lack of style with its incredible comfortableness. Sam sat facing him, an old towel stretched out on their lap. Harold was sitting behind Dean in a rocking chair and Marina was in the kitchen making everyone a cup of cocoa.

Trying to be gentle as possible, Dean sponged away some of the blood. New pearls of maroon seeped forward, eager to take their place. From what he could tell, it wasn't that deep, more of a long shallow scrape surrounded by raw skin and mild bruising. Like when you got slapped really hard and it stung like a bitch and maybe broke the skin a bit, but it wasn't a serious cut. Not in need of stitches (on some deep level, Dean already knew this. If he thought he would have to do stitches, he wouldn't have stayed) but a bandage would be suffice. Head injuries just bled a lot. Wasn't much to be done about that.

Sam's eyes started dropping as Dean pressed a square bandage to the injury then held it in place with some medical tape. It's be sore and Sam was in for a hell of a headache, but it was by nowhere near as bad as it could have been. The wrist got some ice and an ACE bandage and it too was taken care of. Marina has nearly screamed when she saw the dark bruising concentrated on the right side of Sam's chest but Dean assured her Sam just needed a bandage, some drugs, and some rest. Hospital couldn't do anything else anyway.

"C'mon, princess, you gotta stay awake long enough to get to the car because no way am I tugging your heavy ass out there." Harold snorted into his cocoa and Marina looked surprised.

"You could stay here," she offered softly. As the dim light fell over her, Dean could see the beautiful woman she once was hidden in her old eyes. Harold was one damn lucky guy.

He was going to say no. Honestly. They didn't take charity. They'd already overstayed their welcome. But Sam, eyes closed and head tilted, smiled and murmured, "Nice." Maybe he was talking about staying or maybe he was dreaming about banging Miss America but either way it decided for Dean.

"Thank you." She nodded and went upstairs to prepare the guest room.

"Come on, Sam, we're going upstairs." Howard helped Dean get Sam to his feet and together they frog marched Sam to the stairs and slowly up the stairs. The guest room was small, but homey. There was a twin bed with a blue quilt and a small peach couch underneath a double window.

It took half an hour (most of which was just fighting Sam into pajamas) to get Sam into bed. As Dean pulled the covers over Sam, who was already out - drugs and exhaustion he supposed - the older brother felt a surge of protectiveness.

Dean stretched out on the couch, knowing his back wouldn't be happy tomorrow, and pulled his own soft blanket on. The light's were off, but moonlight streamed in the window and fell across Sam's pale face.

_Angel's are watching over us._

Sam looked so young in that moment. He looked like the little kid Dean had taught to swim and the little kid who pleaded with Dean to get ice cream; the kid who pestered Dean and annoyed him to almost no end; who could be a moody, whiny bitch when he wanted to be. The little kid who always came to Dean in the middle of the night and silently crawled into his bed because he trusted big brother to keep away the monsters, real or otherwise. The kid who would give Dean half of his bowl of lucky charms because it was the end of the box; the kid who adored him and trusted him to no end and kept Dean sane.

The kid whom he loved; whom he would die for.

Whether he was 4, 24, or 104, Sam would always be his kid brother.

"Night, Sammy," Dean whispered as he drifted off to sleep.

THE END

**Sorry if it seemed rushed or choppy. I argued with it for a looong time (That's why it's being posted at midnight!) and just didn't know what to do to make it better. I didn't want to drag it out too much either.**

**Oh and if the hot dog thing...that actually happened to me once. And I don't even eat hot dogs! Wierdest thing ever and I just had to stick that in there! *Shrugs* I regret nothing.**

**Thanks for all the alerts/favs/reviews, please keep it up!**


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